


Getaway

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7038958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All my respect for the real figures, living or departed, on whom Velvet Goldmine's characters are (somewhat loosely) based. For my recipient, I hope you enjoy this story and this exchange.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Getaway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlehuntress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/gifts).



> All my respect for the real figures, living or departed, on whom Velvet Goldmine's characters are (somewhat loosely) based. For my recipient, I hope you enjoy this story and this exchange.

It’s beautiful, whatever little island they’re on - Brian made all the arrangements - but kind of boring. Maybe even boring as shit. Curt tends to do better in busy places, like New York and London, where there are things to do when he’s sober enough to do anything, and easy connections when sober is the last thing he wants to be. Here there’s nothing to do except drink, fuck (which was the whole point of coming here), and try to write music. But he’ll put up with English Harbour with its exclusive yachts, cheesy pirate history museums, and boring, rich tourists for Brian’s sake.

Besides, it’s not all bad. It's nice to be somewhere where they can hole up without being recognized, and without Jerry or Mandy or dozens of fans and hangers on bothering them.

At least, it’s nice _some_ of the time. The rest of the time - well. Brian brings his mixed signals with him wherever he goes. One minute he’s loving, admiring, encouraging, and the next he’s calculating, assessing what Jerry will make of a song and what it will do for his career or for Bijou Music Limited. It’s almost like having Jerry fucking Devine in the hotel with them at those times, not exactly what Curt wanted for their romantic getaway.

That might just be Curt, though. He’d smashed a lamp the other night when Brian said something Jerry-ish, but maybe that was unfair of him. After all, Brian _has_ pretty much saved him from the trash heap of the New York music scene, and saved him from landing up back in his parents’ trailer, which would have been a fate worse than death. Really: Curt would have slept on park benches or in subway stations rather than reach out to his so-called family. Brian quite literally saved him by kickstarting his career. 

“The drinks here are still shit,” Curt mutters when Brian returns to their room. He flashes Brian a smile to show that it’s all right, that he’s not complaining about Brian himself, just the drinks in this place, which they have both been bitching about ever since they arrived. Brian smiles back at him, vaguely.

 “I’m dealing with it,” he replies.

 That’s fine by Curt. Brian deals with shit, and Curt smashes hotel property when he’s offended by something or miserable from withdrawal, or makes sarcastic comments to journalists or prospective managers when he desperately needs someone to take him seriously. Curt has never been good at dealing with things. He makes a noncommittal sound, wondering if he’s losing himself and whatever independence he might had to Brian. Then he dismisses the thought. He’s been fairly _happy_ lately. He shouldn’t throw it away.

 Brian leans in for a kiss, and Curt slides his guitar off his lap to pull Brian closer to him. Brian licks at Curt’s lips, pushes his tongue between them, but Curt pulls back abruptly.

 “I want to show you something first,” he says. He has actually been writing songs again, and can’t wait for Brian to hear this one - Unclean, or maybe _My_ Unclean, if that title’s not too pretentious.

 That light comes into Brian’s eyes, the one that makes Curt feel like he means something - like he can achieve things even the great Brian Slade can’t. It’s not that there’s any competition between them: their music is too different, and Jerry likes to sell them like some sort of scandalous, “opposites attract” package deal. So it’s not competition that makes Curt sit up a little taller on the sofa, preening. He’d thought he was such a has been back in New York. He’d barely scraped together enough songs for that last album and could barely pay his rent or his dealer when Brian appeared like a white knight in a seedy fairy tale. Having someone remind him that his music is interesting and different, avant-garde and all that shit, matters. Curt pulls his guitar back and tries not to look too smug.

 “You’ve started that new song?” Brian says. No mixed signals today. He’s back to being the admiring fan, the kid at some obscure festival who really digs music and knows his shit, too.

 “Almost finished it,” Curt says. “And -” He’s getting way ahead of himself - “I think I’d want to use it as a single. On a shorter album, this time.”

_Satellite of Love_ had a lot of filler, between ditties he’d written with Brian while they were pleasantly buzzed and songs he hadn’t finished in time for any of his Wylde Ratttz albums. It had given him his first longed-for hit, but he was starting to feel like he could have done better - pushed even more boundaries, and not _just_ by fawning over Brian in public.

“That’s great,” Brian says, sitting down on the armchair across from Curt. Curt beams at him. 

“Yeah. It’ll be a great single, _if_ they play it on the radio.”

“Let them try not to,” Brian laughs. “See if the censors can contain us. After all, the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” 

And this is the Brian that Curt fell for - smart and daring, the sort of person who could change the world for the better like Curt has always wanted but never really thought possible. There’s so much more to him than a product for Jerry to sell under a gimmicky label, or a ticket to the luxury hotels or bigger venues that had eluded Curt before now. He loves the loving, indignant, and slightly fussy Brian who’ll stand up for him when he’s almost too fucked up to notice, like the first night they met in New York at Max’s, and the sassy Brian who’ll talk candidly about their relationship in interviews because people need to be shocked and who gives a shit anyway? _Oh, yes. Quite soon we actually plan to take over the world..._ Seeing people’s faces at that stupid press conference was worth everything. That Brian, Curt's Brian, still shines through despite all the pressures of tours and contracts and sales and a million groupies and deadlines and distractions. Curt hope it’ll shine through even more when they’ll be done the Maxwell Demon tour in a couple months.

“Come on,” Brian pleads, “let’s hear that new song.”

Curt crosses his legs slowly, letting the anticipation build for as long as he can, before playing through My Unclean. Brian’s eyes shine at him. Curt has only written most of the song, but he doubts eager, adoring fan Brian will mind or put any pressure on him, and he isn’t disappointed when he finishes singing.

“That’s - brilliant,” Brian says, a little shy. “Really.” He bows his head for a moment to stare at the cuffs of his sleeves, rolls them down, and takes a long time about it. Curt reaches for a cigarette.

“I was trying to - distill the scene I was in in New York,” he murmurs into the silence. His jaw tightens as he says it. It was a damn depressing scene - junkie friends he lost to overdoses that may or may not have been accidental, and so-called friends and lovers who turned on Curt the minute he needed them. He’s lucky to have Brian instead.

“It’s brilliant,” Brian says again. He’s looking at Curt sideways with wide eyes now. Curt fights back the urge to kiss him: he wants to, but he’s still too interested in hearing what Brian has to say.

“It’s exactly the sort of thing that got me interested in your music,” Brian goes on, “the sort of thing no one else was doing. It’s so-”

Curt has to laugh. Brian is glowing, all but squirming in his seat. Curt reaches for his wrist and strokes it. Brian’s eyes flick downward to their joint hands, hesitating. He’s too absorbed in his ideas. They’re alike in that respect - Brian has to discuss the music and Curt has to listen to him, bask in his fascination, before getting physical. It’s the perfect prelude to sex.

“It’s that beauty in ugliness,” Brian continues. “It’ll shock people, of course - some people - and it makes you feel like you want to be _doing_ all of that, but it also makes you…”

He trails off again. Curt bites at his bottom lip, wondering if Brian was going to say something like _makes you feel sorry._ He hopes not: that would be cutting too close to home. He doesn’t want Brian’s or anyone's pity anymore than he wants to ruin this moment.

“Feel what?” he asks.

Brian’s face flushes. He worries at a fingernail for a little while before answering.

“Like it’s inspiring and also appalling,” he says at last. “‘Perfect and poisonous.’”

“Trust you to bring Oscar Wilde into it,” Curt jokes. Predictably, Brian’s fingers go to the green pin on his shirt collar.

“Means a lot to me,” Brian says. “It’s like a torch to be passed on.”

Curt knows what he means, even if he wants to roll his eyes. At first he was tempted to ask how Brian could even _know_ that that pin once belonged to Oscar Wilde if Brian got it from Jack Fairy, who found it in the street as a kid - but the idea is cooler than the facts probably are, so he hasn’t bothered. He doesn’t want to gush, either, so he says nothing, just pulls Brian in for another kiss. When they part, Curt sees that Brian has taken his famous Oscar Wilde pin off his shirt. Curt shakes his head as soon as Brian holds it out to him.

“No way,” he says, “it’s your _thing_. You know? Not mine.”

Brian stares at the pin and creases his mouth into that pout that Curt loves. He’s silent for so long that Curt wonders why. It’s almost like he seems guilty about whatever he’s going to say or do.

“No, I want you to have it,” Brian says at last. He takes Curt’s hand and closes his fingers around the pin.

 “You’ve - earned it,” he murmurs.

 Curt squeezes his hand, careful of the pin. He _can_ be careful with things and not just destroy shit, sometimes.

 “Oh, yeah?” he teases, because Brian sounds positively sentimental and he doesn’t want to push too hard and end up making him retreat. They've done this little emotional dance too many times for Curt to forget the steps now.

 “Yeah,” Brian answers. He draws the word out, thinking about what he’s going to say. “You've earned it by -  expanding the sort of boundaries of what rock music could talk about. What it could _be_. And you live your art…”

 Curt shrugs. “Thanks. I guess.”

 “A man's life is his image,” Brian adds, a little pretentious, taking his hand away and leaving Curt holding the cool metal and stone pin between his fingers. Brian reaches for his own cigarettes and lights one, staring at it with a distant look in his eyes, unsatisfied, maybe. Curt realizes that their intimate discussion is over for now. He ignores the pang of disappointment that flares up in him.

 “I'm - Thanks,” he repeats, lamely. He stands up, brushes past Brian, and bends over the suitcase he still hasn't unpacked to fish out his jacket and clip the pin to the collar. Brian catches him in a kiss as soon as he turns around. Curt is surprised, but grips Brian's shoulders and opens his mouth against Brian's, tasting his palate with his tongue. Brian presses him against the bedroom door. Curt grins and fumbles with the zipper on Brian's jeans, prompting Brian to pull back, much to Curt’s annoyance. _Fucking mixed messages._

 “If we wait,” Brian whispers, “I've got a connection coming with some better drinks and some coke. Had to work to get it here.”

 He lets go of Curt to smooth back his hair. Curt scoffs at him.

 “Brian, you know I'm not good at the whole - delaying gratification thing.” That's an understatement: his cock has already started getting hard. “Can't we invite your connection to join us or something?” Maybe he should be grateful at the prospect of getting high on anything when they’re in the middle of nowhere, and when Brian has put them on a strict schedule of only using every other day...

 “Ugh, not my type,” Brian laughs. “You could have him to yourself, if you'd want him. I doubt you would, though.”

 Curt rolls his eyes and kisses Brian on the lips, a brief, closed mouth peck. He's relenting. Today has been too perfect not to humor Brian, or to make a pass at a random third when Brian’s not into it.

 “Fine,” he says, “I guess we _can_ wait a bit.”

 But he stretches out on top of Brian anyway and runs his hands through Brian’s hair, messing it up as much as he can. There’s no reason they can’t make out like silly, horny teenagers while they wait.


End file.
